The Shades
by gilligankane
Spoilers: the first Christmas (12/24/08)
AUTHOR'S NOTE: i've never written them this far back in the story line, so i've got my fingers crossed.
The things we have in common will keep us together. But the differences between you and I, that's what makes life fun.
- pleasefindthis
You run your hands across the piece of door, not really sure you're seeing what you're seeing, but it's real , and each stroke across the chipped paint tells you a story.
This is the dent from eight-year-old Rafe's hand, where he slammed his tiny clenched fist into the side of the kitchen door, angry that he couldn't go get an ice cream like everyone else.
This is the shoe mark of almost seventeen years, from pressing his black-soled sneakers scratching up against the bottom of the impromptu measuring tape.
This is the line where Rafe was three and five and nine and twelve and sixteen and every year in between.
This is the history of your son on one piece of wood.
“Olivia,” you breathe out in awe. She just smiles warmly from the kitchen table, shooting a grin and a wink at Emma whose bouncing in her seat the way Rafe used to when he knew it was almost time for Santa to come. “Olivia,” you repeat again, grasping at straws, trying to say what you're feeling: how you're overwhelmed with awe and respect and gratitude.
But she shakes her head and dismisses it with a wave of her hand, typical Olivia Spencer response.
“I wanted to do something nice, for you ,” she says like she didn't just spend all Christmas Eve on the phone making sure it got here; like she didn't just make all your Christmas dreams come true.
You hmm under your breath and nod over and over again, trying to keep the tears out of your eyes.
“Thank you,” you whisper reverently.
She just smiles again and grabs Emma underneath the arms, only swinging her around for a minute, because you're giving her that look that she knows means ‘ no-heavy lifting' and just rolls her eyes, shooing Emma into the living room.
You take a moment to collect yourself.
And then it all falls into place: she can't leave.
Emma giggles from the other room and it all falls into place: she can't leave.
You hear her mumble something and laugh and Emma giggles from the other room and it all falls into place: she can't leave.
You rummage through the kitchen drawers, wondering where you left that second set of keys.
She can't leave, you decide, because of Emma, because of her heart, because leaving is the cowardly thing to do.
Sure , you admit to yourself we don't exactly get along.
Sure, we see a lot of things different.
Sure, we argue.
Sure, we're going to keep arguing.
And then Emma laughs again.
But I won't let her move out because she can't handle a little bit of heated discussion; because she doesn't want to deal with the differences.
You find them, the keys, stuffed in the hutch where Emma's pictures hang and you take a minute to study them, seeing the smiles in each of the stick-figure's faces – in her face and Olivia's face and your face. You're all happy in this picture, and judging from the laughing filtering in from the living room, you're all happy in real life too.
The keys are heavy in your hand.
All because she got you a piece of your door back in Chicago; all because she went out of her way to make you smile.
You can't let this go – this small, little family you've had to yourself for the last couple of weeks; a united force against all things sad-making.
You can't let it go just because sometimes ( more than sometimes , you'll admit) you don't agree.
Because you argue.
You have your differences – everyone can see that, but you both love the same things: your kids, your security.
You hear her mumble something and laugh and Emma giggles from the other room and it all falls into place: she can't leave.
Without realizing, your hands are moving and they're placing the keys into a small jewelry box she left inside the hutch and you're placing a bow from under the kitchen table on the top of it and you've unconsciously made up your mind.
She's going to stay.
That is, if she even says yes .